Julie Fay: Rolling in Play-Doh whether I like it or not

Julie Fay

Sunday

May 24, 2009 at 12:01 AMMay 24, 2009 at 2:01 AM

I hate Play-Doh. My kids love Play-Doh. A couple of Christmases ago, Earl’s sister gave Abby a Play-Doh playset with a Polynesian island theme. The kids loved it. But after a week of stepping around and on play set pieces, I discreetly slipped the whole thing into hiding. There it remains, like an ancient civilization waiting to be rediscovered. It’s Easter Island under my couch.

My kids love Play-Doh. They happily mush it between their fingers, roll it into snakes, and cut it into hearts with my cookie cutters. Abby, my 7-year-old, favors molds of her hands, while Brian, 4, likes to cut out bells. Timmy’s latest motif is the inchworm, which his 3-year-old hands propel across the dining-room table.

And all of that is fine, except the stinky stuff ends up under their nails, flattened on the tablecloth and squished on the hardwood, where it waits to invade the sneaker treads of any unsuspecting floor-walker. Once attached to the shoes, like a parasite, it has a pass to anywhere in the world, but always migrates to the carpeted family room. Days later, I find it there, dry on the top but fused to the Berber on the bottom, holding on for dear life as I gamely try to scrape it off with a credit card and dust-bust the loose crumbs.

I didn’t grow up in a Play-Doh family. We did have some around, but it was always dried out on the infrequent occasions when I got the urge to squish, although the fragrance lingered. Consequently, no one on my side of the family ever bequeaths the stuff to my kids on their birthdays or at the holidays.

My husband’s family is a different story. A couple of Christmases ago, Earl’s sister gave Abby a Play-Doh playset with a Polynesian island theme. There were totem poles, thatched-roof molds, and the fancy hair-grower thing that makes the figures look like Medusa. All it was missing were some tiki torches and a few sweet drinks in hollowed-out pineapples. The whole setup reminded me of The Brady Bunch Hawaiian vacation episode, the details of which I forget except for a vague sense of foreboding.

The kids loved the Peril in Polynesia play set. For three days, they happily created their mai tai bowls and human sacrifices in bright colors. But after a week of stepping around and on play set pieces, I discreetly slipped the whole thing into hiding. There it remains, like an ancient civilization waiting to be rediscovered. It’s Easter Island under my couch.

Other, more resourceful mothers with an aversion to Play-Doh might simply whip up some homemade, organic, cruelty-free play dough to stimulate their children’s inner sculptors. But if I’m going to cook something, it had better be edible. That’s not generally a guarantee in my kitchen, so why court disaster?

I don’t actively discourage Abby, Brian or Timmy from playing with Play-Doh. True, it’s kept in an organizer on a door that is closed most of the time. But if they ask for it, far be it from me to squelch their sculpting aspirations. So squish and squash away, kids. But take off your shoes before you go into the family room.